Waiting For Gen-chan
by Lady Jaida
Summary: After the Miko leaves, Tasuki is left trying to figure out who he is -- is he Kouji's Genrou, Miaka's Tasuki, or someone else entirely? Part One up. *Shounen-ai*
1. Fireside

I was sick, bored, having writer's block for WtPH...so this spewed out. Tasuki and Kouji are the cutest little things, ain't they? ;_; If I get inspired to write a Part Two, it'll have lots of snugglage. C&C, as always!   
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Waiting For Gen-chan**

Part One: Fireside

The night was appropriately dark and cold, fitting in with how dark and cold the nights had been for months, now. The blue-black sky was stretched like velvet over the tops of the trees, rolling over the horizon, meeting, somewhere miles and miles in the distance, the very end of the seemingly endless road.

The lone traveller was weary through and through, and the usual campfire by the side of the road held little comfort or warmth. There was a slump to his shoulders and a hang-dog line to his body that spoke of a weariness beyond his years; too many weeks on the road and he'd almost forgotten where it had begun, knew already that if he kept on this course, he'd never know where it ended. Roads like this one tended to roll on forever, for as long as a traveller chose to continue his wandering. The problem was, it was just long enough for him to forget enough to get lonely, and not long enough for him to forget everything.

Sure, he supposed, he was running away. He'd known that all along, so he couldn't even pretend to be lying to himself. And the road -- it led exactly where he wanted it to. Far away. Far away from his past and far, far into his future, which wasn't so much of a future anymore as just a dot on the horizon; travelling towards it was merely a way to pass his time.

A soft snort from the horse tethered beside him ruffled against the back of his neck, puffing flame-red hair against his cheek. He lifted a hand, scratching idly at his skin as he stared mournfully into the flames before him.

_//It was over dinner the last night before Genrou left that he asked the question - or, rather, stated the obvious that had lingered uncomfortable between them._

"Yer leavin', ain't ya."

"Guess I am. Guess I...gotta."

"Y'jus' came back an' yer leavin' again. Hn. Shoulda known y'would."

"Kouji..." There was silence between them for a few moments, Genrou shifting miserably, rubbing nervously at the back of his neck. It had never been like this, before. But now, there was some part of himself, some part of Genrou that wasn't_ Genrou anymore, struggling to take power. If he could sense it happening, then it wasn't a surprise Kouji could, too.. That part of him had always been there, power concentrated in the mark of the seishi on his forearm, but was just now trying to break free._

"What? Y'got anythin' left t'say t'me?" Hurt in his friends voice, anger over that agonizing hurt. Genrou turned his face away, shoulders slumping, hands dropping to his sides. "Go on an' say it! Y'ain't gonna get another chance anyway, yer leavin' t'morrow--"

"I'm comin' back," Genrou murmured.

"Yeah. Sure."

"I am!"

"An' what if somethin' happens t'ya? What if y'can't come back? Don' make any promises y'can't keep--"  
  
"I'm keepin' this one."

"Y'can't be so damn sure about that, idiot! 'S a damn big world out there, d'ya know that?!"

"I'm tellin' ya, I'm comin' back!" It was hard. It was hard for both of them. Genrou felt acutely aware that it was hard for Kouji, as well as it was hard for him, and felt all the more guilty over his own pain at leaving, his own fear of putting his life so far behind him without looking back. 

"...yeah." Kouji stood away from the table, kicking his chair aside. His motions were controlled, his muscles and his body stiff. There was all the more anger behind his actions for that.

"I promise."

"Yeah."

Genrou stood, a good deal more carefully than Kouji had, trotting across the distance between them to stand behind his friend. All he could see was the back of Kouji's neck, sloping down slightly in defeat.

"Don' spend 'nymore time here, then," Kouji muttered under his breath, scowling at the wall darkly. "Get th'hell out." With a wince, Genrou lifted a hesitant hand, resting it on Kouji's shoulder for a moment. Beneath the touch, the other bandit tensed, then relaxed, eyes flickering down to look at those fingers wonderingly. 

"I'll be_ back," Genrou promised."//_

Genrou warmed his freezing fingers over the fire, scowling darkly to himself. He would be back. He would -- he had promised.

He just didn't know _when_.

There were too many things keeping him on the road, too many memories, too many demons. Maybe Kouji would understand and maybe he wouldn't. Kouji hadn't known Tasuki and hadn't known the people Tasuki had known. He couldn't heal the wounds Tasuki had; even Genrou couldn't heal the wounds Tasuki had. Tasuki had lost too much. Tasuki had felt too much.

And now that the Miko was gone -- gone for good, this time, taking Tamahome along with her -- Tasuki was shoved, deep down in Genrou's skin, the lingering sadness from him flowing through Genrou's own blood.

There was no way to let that part of himself go. Yet. No way -- yet. 

Someday, maybe, but for tonight, for tomorrow, for the next week, the next month: he would remain on the road, where he could pretend to forget and pretend that the sky open to him signified freedom.

_//"He's dead."_

"I know, they jus' told th'rest of th'men--"

"He had a kid! Did y'know that? A god-damn kid, a fuckin' kid who ain' gonna know what a great guy his dad was!"

"Genrou--" Tasuki whirled on his friend, eyes bright, flashing angrily. He paused, something coiling in his muscles, writhing agonizingly in his blood. Two beings, fighting for dominance.

"That ain't me! I ain'...that...!" Kouji pulled back, sea-blue eyes widening in pain and surprise.

"...yer right. Y'ain't Genrou." His lips curved up into a bitter smile, bangs falling over his forehead and hiding those shocked, miserable eyes. Tasuki winced, arms wrapping around himself, his own golden eyes bright with grief and tears. He had always cried easily. Genrou had always cried easily, and Tasuki had always been the same; there were some things, some fundamental things, that were the same between the two of them, but Tasuki_ and _Genrou_ were two completely different people._

"No," Tasuki murmured.

"No," Kouji echoed. "An' if y'die here, Tasuki_, then Genrou dies here, too -- y'ain' gonna cause him t'break his promise t'me! I won' let ya. Yer comin' back. Yer comin' back because Genrou promised me y'would..." Their eyes met and Kouji's crinkled a little in the corners, like a man trying not to cry or trying not to smile, or maybe a little bit of both. "Y'got that? I'm goin' back out there an' mebbe we won' see each other again b'fore y'go off an' take _him_ with ya, but before...before I do...I want him t'know somethin' from me. Will ya make sure he gets this message...Tasuki?" Tasuki pulled back, recoiling from the tone in Kouji's voice. It was scarring, cutting like a knife. "Tell 'im I love 'im. An' I'll be waitin' f'r 'im, when he finally comes back."//_

He curled himself up by the glowing embers of his dying fire, golden eyes trapping the last blush from the ashes, seeming almost to burn, themselves. It made sense. He controlled such fire, inside him, and his eyes were only the merest glimpse of those flames.

Both he and Kouji were right, that night. 

He wasn't Genrou.

It was better to dwell on these thoughts, easier that way to ignore those last words from his best friend, before he'd left. That was something he'd leave for later. They weren't words meant for Tasuki.

And Tasuki himself wasn't sure how he could be Genrou again. He was something in between, a mix of the seishi and the man he had been. Miaka was gone, so shouldn't Tasuki be gone with her, too?

Only Tasuki had been a man, as well, not just a servant, not just a shell taken to protect the miko. He'd loved, and he'd lost; he'd been loved, too, by the seven others he'd met. He'd made memories with those new friends, those who had grown close to him, and then, he'd lost some of the most amazing people he'd ever met, so soon after meeting them. The point was, you couldn't just shove a person you'd been aside. You couldn't just forget, couldn't just go back to being who you were before because it was easier.

No one asked your name, on the road. Tasuki wouldn't have to pause, wondering what he said, whether he should say _Tasuki_ as he'd grown so accustomed to, or _Genrou_, as he should be going back to. On the road, you had endless days and endless nights to think, and you could put off wondering about the people you'd left behind for as long as you could put one foot in front of the other.

On the road, you had endless days and endless nights to think, alone.

Curling up tight, the redhead squeezed his eyes shut, and prayed for sleep to come and banish the cold he felt up into his fingertips. 


	2. Mountainside

Well...this is part two. ^^; No snuggling yet, surprisingly enough. Just lots of Feel Bad For Kouji-ness. R&R! I wanna know if I should continue, or not...

  
**Part Two: Mountainside**

It had been two years and six weeks since the Miko had left their world for good, but Kouji had stopped counting the months a while ago. Deep in the back of his brain, though, he was ticking off sunrise and sunsets as helplessly as ever, even though he knew Genrou would never return.

It was summer. The sun was burning. It was hot. The sweat in his eyes, though, was a comfortingly salty eyt, and he brushed it away with the back of his hand merely to clear his vision.

Two years and six weeks.

Kouji had been waiting for Genrou to come back for two years and six weeks.

It was painfully clear that Genrou wasn't coming.

It had become routine, though, for the blue-haired bandit to peer out over the road and wait to see that fire-colored hair catch the sun, see that familiar, swaggering form coming down through the dust. No matter how many times the sun set and night fell, leaving the air chilly and Kouji alone, he couldn't help but watch and wait.

_//That hair caught the firelight that flickered between them. It echoed up in those eyes like fire, too, molten gold. There was pain in this Genrou that Kouji did not know. Did not know the pain, did not know the Genrou.//_

He had lost his best friend, of that much he was certain. Whether Genrou was alive or dead now he did not know, but his best friend, the boy he'd grown up with, the teenager he'd loved, the man he'd never known, was gone. Cold nights made warm with sake and laughter were over. Careless boyhood was lost to the past, a past he could never regain. Sure, Kouji mused to himself, he'd changed.

Just not as much as Genrou had.

_//"Yer leavin', ain't ya."//_

Kouji bowed his head over his knees. His eyes were beginning to ache from staring off too long into the bright sunlight. The horizon was painfully close at times; at others, painfully distant.

Somewhere out there was everything he'd lost and everything he was waiting, helpless, to regain.

_//"Guess I...gotta."//_

One knee was dragged up to Kouji's chest. He rested his chin against it, looking out over the land below him. He was high up on a mountain, looking down on the world. That only made him lonelier.

"The hell're ya thinkin'," he asked himself.

"The hell're ya thinkin'?!" he asked, louder, as if somewhere, Genrou would hear him. His fingers knotted against the fabric of his pants. His body tensed until every muscle screamed out.

He didn't even write a letter to say, 'Hey, not coming back ever again, have a nice damn life.' There was no news, no nothing. As if they hadn't been friends. As if Kouji hadn't...said what he'd said, that last night he'd seen Genrou's face. Even if it was Tasuki that was behind it.

"I'm in love with ya, y'fuckin' bastard," he whispered, helpless, into the hot summer air. No one was listening. It didn't help to say it. It only reminded him of his weakness, his helplessness in the face of this misery.

It was not knowing whether Genrou was alive or dead, was coming back to him or staying away for ever, that drove him mad down to his fingertips. Not knowing left Kouji having to _wait_. Because there was always going to be that 'what if...?' plaguing him. What if he moved on with his life and suddenly Genrou returned. What if he didn't move on with his life and he ended up waiting for Genrou to come back until he grew old and died alone? A piece of him was missing. He wanted so badly to move on, but Genrou -- Tasuki -- whoever it was had fixed it so he couldn't. Sheer carelessness, no doubt, but it was ripping Kouji to shreds day by day.

"When the hell are ya comin' home?"

_//"I'll _be_ back," Genrou said.//_

"Y'promised me." 

The sound of his own misery was growing old to even his own ears. His men -- his men, now, not Genrou's -- watched him in annoyed, half-pitying contempt. Kouji was functional, but his heart and his soul wasn't with them. Kouji was pining away for the love of their former leader who'd left them behind, who had good as betrayed them, like some sort of lovesick schoolgirl.

At least he wasn't drinking himself to death.

At least he could still give orders, at least he remembered how to do that much. He got them through. No one was hungry. No one was lacking anything they needed.

There were no murmurs of discontent from the men. There were half-assed jokes, there were quiet stories reminiscent of 'the old days, back when...' But they were satisfied the way they were, weren't about to fight for change.

No, no one was missing anything they wanted.

_Except for Genrou_.

Kouji felt as if he had lost a limb, only if he had lost something so unimportant as a leg or an arm, he would have gotten over it and been able to _move on_. It was like someone had scooped out a great piece of what was inside his chest and had left part of him hollow, the rest of him left disconcerted every time it ran into that hollowness that didn't used to be there.

_//"Tell 'im I love 'im."//_

Christ.

Christ, it hurt.

_//"I'll be waitin' for 'im, when he finally comes back."//_

For the first few months he had truly believed that things would go back to the way they were. That Genrou would come home to him, and they'd work things out. It wouldn't have to end the way it did, a fireside, a shouting match, Kouji storming out and leaving Genrou, Tasuki, _him_ behind.

It wasn't supposed to end that way.

_//"I'll_ be_ back," Genrou said.//_

"Liar," Kouji accused the air.

There wasn't anyone there to accuse, no one there to yell at, just that hollow in his heart and that ache in his stomach.

"Fuckin' no good liar," Kouji said, louder. It echoed against the mountains and only served to remind him of his own loneliness.

Somewhere out there, Tasuki was going about his business. Probably hadn't given a God damn thought to Genrou, to Kouji or to Leikaku-san and the bandits. He'd left all that behind. He'd severed all ties.

"It ain't so fuckin' easy f'r me, y'fuckin' bastard."

Kouji was talking to himself. It got pretty bad, Kouji thought as a rueful smile played over his lips, when a guy had to talk to himself to keep from losing it. He wanted to scream so loud that Genrou _had_ to hear him. He wanted to break things, wanted to go into Genrou's old and now-dusty room and ruin it completely. Tear up the bedsheets. Smash the wooden chairs against the walls. Crack in the glass of the mirror. Light it on fire, maybe.

But that couldn't make Genrou's scent go away.

It couldn't banish Genrou from Kouji's memory.

It couldn't wipe the slate clean.

No matter how many tantrums Kouji threw, it wasn't going to bring Genrou back.

_//They lay out with young bodies beneath the stars, the air getting a light chill to it, even though it was summer. Above them the stars twinkled on and off. They were reflected in both their eyes: the dark gray-blue of a sea at night, the burnished golden of a blazing fire. Kouji didn't have to imagine what was in those eyes. They saw the stars, and just the stars. Genrou's eyes didn't have to make theories about them and didn't have to wonder what they were, what powered them, what kept them suspended without falling in the dark sky. They saw just what was there, without over-complicating things, as everyone else Kouji knew did. As Kouji himself did. Genrou looked at something and saw that something unconditionally, through and through, and he didn't ever ask for explanations. He just looked. It was an uncanny gaze, but it was wonderful all the same, to know he saw you and didn't have to ask you 'why' or 'how' or 'what.' He knew you'd be there. He knew you'd always be there.//_  
  
"Genrou."

On the horizon the sun wavered in its own heat, sweating, its edges blurring to Kouji's own aching eyes. He squinted. Something moving, far, far off.

"Y'promised, Genrou."

Something getting closer, minute and unimportant but growing, a little fleck in the distance getting slowly bigger against the shimmering sun. It was torturously slow, this speck that might have even been dust caught in Kouji's eye, making him think he was seeing things when he really wasn't.

_//A dark night. You and your best friend just like your brother, lying side to side, and you feeling each other breathe the same air, live the same earth.//_

As it got closer, Kouji could make out that flash of orange-red hair, catching the sunlight and burning like it was on fire.

_//"I'll _be_ back," Genrou said.//_


End file.
